


bet on it.

by novrik



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bet Dating, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Pining, competitive romancing, the media as a plot device
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29908578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novrik/pseuds/novrik
Summary: his first mistake is getting drunk.his second mistake is making a bet with Miya Atsumu.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 49
Collections: Haikyuu Big Bang 2020





	bet on it.

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhh pt 2 coming to you soon. hopefully. please enjoy
> 
> check out the art piece [here!](https://twitter.com/illuminati_png/status/1368765946249232384) nat did a lovely job:D

Sakusa isn’t quite sure what he’s doing here. He’s currently seated at Shuugo’s dining table, sipping on a glass of wine. Meian had insisted on Sakusa coming, claiming the social interaction would be good for him. The wing spiker really wanted to decline, but the persistent look in his captain’s eyes made him reconsider. Better to say yes than face being benched. He rarely accepts invitations to team dinners unless deemed necessary such as after a win, and he even less frequently accepts invitations to home gatherings or “house parties” as Atsumu likes to call them. The setting is much too fancy to be deemed a “house party” as Sakusa _is_ dressed in a crisp, maroon button down tucked into a pair of black slacks. It’s definitely an upgrade from his usual post game outfit consisting of sweats at a mind numbingly dirty izakaya.

He takes another sip from his glass. Reflected bits of light from the crystal chandelier fall on him like shattered pieces of glass. Sakusa is definitely not drunk, but he’s definitely not sober either. He mulls over the taste of the meal as he swirls his glass around. Dinner had been good. He enjoyed it a lot, paying his compliments to the chef, Shuugo’s wife, seated next to the captain. She laughed and humbly basked in the praises from the rest of the team. It was a spicy lobster pasta, light on carbs and heavy on the protein, perfect for a group of professional athletes. Sakusa had found himself savoring in the cherry tomatoes’ sweetness paired with the acidity from the lemon juice.

The flavor of the pasta sauce and the lobster had been intensified deeply through the choice of Riesling wine. The white wine’s sweet, fruity accents were refreshing to Sakusa. To take a bite of pasta and then wash it down with the wine’s inexplicably citrus flavor was pure satisfaction. He goes through one and a half glasses by the time he’s finished his pasta.

Sakusa Kiyoomi is more than just a little tipsy as he breaks off a piece of his dessert, a simple vanilla cake with cream and strawberries. The cake is not too sweet, perfectly soft and fluffy. Everything about the cake is easy from the base to the cream to the fruit. Sakusa knows exactly what has gone into this cake which he likes. He likes it when things are simple and easy to understand.

Miya Atsumu who sits across from him, cheeks flushed and smiling coyly, is anything but simple and easy to understand. The setter is an enigma, intricately shaped puzzle pieces Sakusa has yet to snap together. See the thing is, puzzles have always come easily to Sakusa. He can see the end result in his mind’s eye as he feels the edges of the pieces along his finger. The sound produced when he correctly snaps a piece in place is infinitely satisfying, much like when he snaps his wrist against one of Miya’s sets.

He can see the entirety of Miya Atsumu in his 6’2 glory, piss blond hair, and sleazy smirk. He can see the wholly fullness of this monster of an athlete who spends his free nights slamming ball after ball over the net as if trying to say “fuck you” to God. He has seen Atsumu smile in pure confidence, ceiling lights turning his eyes glassy when opting for a setter’s dump to utterly crush any leftover fighting spirit from the opposing team. He has seen Atsumu push himself to the brink of hurting himself on the edges of a loss, ragged breaths heaving up and down while sweat trickles down. Atsumu on court is different from Atsumu outside who is too loud, too overbearing, too much of everything. He soaks up attention like it is all he lives for. Sakusa doesn’t understand how the Atsumu who beats himself up for messing up on serves can be the same Atsumu who walks through crowds of people like he is God himself and not a mere mortal scaling insurmountable cliffs made of effort.

Rational, sober Sakusa would come to the conclusion that people are multifaceted, and Atsumu is simply human for having a so-called “well rounded” personality.

But in the little flicks of light from the chandelier illuminating all the right planes of Atsumu’s pinkening face, all form of rationale has left Sakusa’s brain, and he continues to drink from his glass in a silent drinking contest he’s agreed to with Atsumu. The corners of the setter’s lips have curled up into a grin, head leaned back against his seat as he stares at Sakusa in a way that can only be described as “sultry.” Sakusa places his glass against his lips again. In his headiness of the sweet, tangy alcohol washing down his throat into his stomach to be metabolized, Sakusa, tipsy leaning drunk, tells himself Atsumu is pretty. Because of the wine. He looks pretty flushed red.

Sakusa narrows his eyes as Atsumu takes another sip, smiling cocky as ever. He shifts in his seat because he’s thinking, thinking real hard, what Atsumu would be if he were a wine. Something dry? No, not quite, Atsumu is more complicated than that.

“Whatcha lookin at Omi-kun?” the setter drawls out from across the table. “Lookin’ at me, maybe?”

“No.”

“I don’t mind if ya look, ya know,” Atsumu continues. His teeth flash with the way light bounces off of them. Are those canines? Sakusa’s hazy but swears Atsumu has canines.

“You are the last person I’d want to look at,” Sakusa snips back. From the corner of his vision, his glass gets refilled. Must be Shouyou. He can feel the rest of the team’s curious, lingering looks, eager to see how this will end.

“Aw, Omi-Omi, yer never gonna get a date like that.” Atsumu bats his eyelashes.

Sakusa can’t believe he wants to get into bed with this man.

“Ya gotta be nice ya know? Be a gentleman ‘n everythin’.” 

“You don’t believe I can get a date?” Sakusa raises an eyebrow.

“Haaaah,” Atsumu breathes out and leans forward on the table. “Mmm yeah, I bet that ya couldn’t be a boyfriend for shit. Ya wouldn’t be able to woo someone.”

“Woo someone,” Sakusa repeats, incredulous.

Atsumu nods sagely. “Woo someone.”

“Eat shit, Miya. I could woo someone.”

The sleazy grin returns. “Ya wanna bet? Cause I bet 5000 yen ya can’t.”

“Why don’t we up the stakes? I bet I could woo _you_ for 5000 yen.” Sakusa smiles to himself because yes, this is a fucking great idea.

And Atsumu looks at him, mouth slightly open. The table has gone quiet as the background chatter has halted to a stop.

“I think I could woo _you_ better than you could me, Omi-kun,” Atsumu reverses back. 

“Deal,” Sakusa says. Atsumu’s lips curl into a grin revealing the gleam of pearly white teeth. It’s like making a deal with a kitsune, Sakusa thinks. He hopes he doesn’t get his soul stolen. He can vaguely recognize the rest of the team eagerly placing their own bets. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. It’s still the off-season.”

“A date then?”

“I’ll pick you up at 7.”

Atsumu marvels, cupping his chin in his hands. “I think I’m fallin’ in love already.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Just kiddin’ Omi. Gonna hafta do a lot better than that fer me to fall in love.”

Sakusa pouts, silently seething.

//

He wakes with a raging headache and a horrible dryness in his mouth. Sunlight filters in through the window blinds. Sakusa shuts his eyes and groans when he hears his phone ringing on his nightstand. He blindly reaches over and swipes to answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Sakusa-kun,” Shuugo cheerfully greets.

Ah, fuck.

“Captain,” he returns cautiously.

“You should definitely check the group chat.”

Fuck.

“How much did I drink last night?”

“You and Atsumu owe me a new wine bottle.”

“I…” Sakusa’s voice trails off. “I apologize.”

“Hm well, as long as I get my part of the bet, everything will be fine. Take some ibuprofen, eat something and check the group chat, alright? I think last night will come back to you once you go through everything. Don’t forget, it’s at 7 tonight,” his captain gently reminds him, light laughter ending the call. Sakusa grimaces and slowly peels himself out of bed. Fucking great. Absolutely fucking great.

He shuffles to the bathroom, slips on his headband to push back his bangs, runs the water to reach hot, and opens his mouth to take out his retainers. Sakusa sticks them under the faucet to rinse off and then puts them back into their container. He wets his toothbrush, puts on a dollop of toothpaste, wets it again and begins to brush. As he carefully goes through the motions, he scrolls through the events of last night in the team’s set up group chat.

This is what Shuugo meant by he’d remember once he saw.

Wow, fuck his captain. Not like Sakusa would ever say that out loud and truly mean it, but right now, he really doesn’t like him.

There’s a video Shuugo had sent depicting an extremely out of it Miya Atsumu and an equally drunk Sakusa Kiyoomi hashing it out at each other over this bet. Sakusa can’t believe he was goaded into a bet with Atsumu, much less a bet that required him to get Atsumu to fall in love with him while Atsumu simultaneously tries to get Sakusa to fall in love.

Technically he could just forfeit right now, couldn’t he? 5000 yen is like pocket change to him.

He thinks it over and hates how quickly he dismisses the thought.

Sakusa curses himself for having such a competitive spirit. Curse himself for being stupid enough to drink with Atsumu, to agree to such an absurd bet. But it shouldn’t be that hard, really. Miya seems easy enough to charm, and Sakusa has always been able to deflect from the setter’s whims.

He scrolls down some more, and his teammates have bet amongst each other who they think is gonna win. Fuck them too, Sakusa thinks. Not you, Shouyou, thanks for being on my side. Shouyou and Shuugo have both bet on Sakusa on being able to, ahem, woo, Atsumu. Bokuto’s texts are too incoherent to be able to understand what he wants to say. Inunaki and Thomas have both bet on Atsumu. Barnes says he’s too old for this shit to which Shuugo points out he’s just two years older. Barnes repeats himself that he’s too old for this shit.

Sakusa sets his phone down and spits into the sink. He finishes the remainder of his routine with the last step being carefully patting sunscreen into his skin. After wiping down the marble top sink, he exits his room to the kitchen.

After setting out a can of tuna for his cat, Ume, Sakusa grabs a glass and opens the pill bottle. He’s drinking water to help with the ibuprofen pill when he gets a text.

Piss Hair [fox emoji]

hey r we like… gonna talk abt this

Sakusa audibly sighs. He presses “home” on Atsumu’s contact. The call rings for one, two seconds before the setter picks up.

“Ya know, y’can chicken out right?”

“And give you 5000 yen? No thanks.”

“Hah!” Atsumu exclaims over the line. “Knew ya wouldn’t. Do yer best ta woo me, dear Sakusa.”

“And what happens when you fall in love with me, Miya?” Sakusa muses. “What then?”

“Uh no way. Not happenin’,” Atsumu insists.

“You know, denial is a sign of attraction,” Sakusa says smugly.

“‘n who the fuck said that? Besides, you’ll fall for me before ya know it.”

“So you say,” Sakusa muses. “Are we putting a time limit on this?”

“See yer smart, Omi-kun. Knew I could trust ya to think of the details.”

“Well?”

“Hm,” Atsumu contemplates. “Fallin’ in love is kinda arbitrary don’cha think? Let’s say if I do end up developing feelings for you first then ya win. If you fall fer me first, I win. And… three months? How’s that sound?”

“Three months from today, then, Atsumu. Three months and I’ll make you eat your words.”

“Yer on, Omi-Omi.”

“Wear something nice. I’m picking you up at 7, don’t forget.”

“Oh, somethin’ nice? First date ‘n yer already goin’ fer a fancy schmancy restaurant?”

“Just do something about your shitty hair.”

Atsumu laughs, and Sakusa ends the call.

There are two things Sakusa has come to conclude from this morning: one, never fucking have a drinking contest with Atsumu again; two, he needs to call Motoya. If there’s anyone who can help him with godforsaken shit he’s gotten himself into, it’s his cousin.

Well, of course, Sakusa expects to be clowned. But the help. The help is extremely needed. It’s worth being clowned on. But first, breakfast.

  
  


“So, Kiyoomi,” Motoya immediately says after picking up his cousin’s call, “I hear you’re in some shit.”

“What the fuck,” Kiyoomi deadpans. “It’s ten in the morning. How did you—”

“Have you seen your team?” Kiyoomi can hear Motoya raising his eyebrow.

“I hate how you’re right.”

“I’m always right, and well, I assume you’re not backing out.”

“Unfortunately, you are correct,” Kiyoomi answers.

“You want my help,” Motoya deduces.

“Yes, Motoya. I want your help.”

“And what do I get out of this?”

“A cut of my earnings.”

Kiyoomi hears him click his tongue. “That’s pocket change. What happens if you lose?”

“I won’t.”

“So confident. Already on your way to becoming Mr. Charming.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t respond.

“You’re making that face.”

“Motoya, I’m begging you here.” Kiyoomi is indeed making that face.

“Oh wow, lucky me, the great Sakusa Kiyoomi, former top 3 ace in the nation, is begging _me,_ lil’ old Komori Motoya.”

“I fucking hate you so much.”

“You love me,” Motoya says cheerfully. “Anyway, do you even know what you’re doing?”

“No, why else would I be asking?” Kiyoomi is exasperated.

“Relax, I got you. You said you’re taking him somewhere fancy right?”

“Yeah, I insisted on him dressing up.”

“Alright, do you know what he likes?”

“Fatty tuna,” Kiyoomi flatly supplies.

Motoya snickers. “I’m starting to think you actually like this guy.”

Kiyoomi sighs, loudly. “Wanting to get into a bed with him and liking him are two different things.”

“Hm, maybe, but when it comes to you… ”

Kiyoomi looks down to scrutinize his fingernails. Silence hangs between the call, and he can feel the judgemental stare from Motoya.

“Okay, fine, moving on,” his cousin interrupts after just a few too many quiet seconds. “There’s an upscale sushi restaurant in downtown right? Just take him there. There’s gotta be at least one that’s plenty fancy but like not too fancy that you can’t get a reservation for tonight.”

“So smart, Motoya. This is why I come to you,” Kiyoomi says.

“Don’t be sarcastic with me. I have a lot of blackmail I could use against you.”

“Thank you, dear Motoya,” he quickly amends.

“Maybe buy him a bouquet of flowers too? Is Atsumu into that sorta thing?”

“I have no idea,” Kiyoomi admits.

Motoya laughs. “Try it. Tell me how the date goes. So… go get him loverboy!”

Kiyoomi groans. He’s got a lot of work to do.

  
  


Anxiety makes for a high strung Sakusa Kiyoomi.

It doesn’t really hit him that he’s actually about to go on a date with Miya Atsumu until after his call with Motoya. He slouches against the couch, mouth pressed together in a thin line. He blinks a couple of times at the ceiling, and his nails dig into his palms leaving little red crescent moons.

Holy shit.

He’s about to go on a date with Miya Atsumu.

He’s about to go on a date with Miya Atsumu in order to prove he can be a good boyfriend. Sakusa is definitely sure this isn’t what he had in mind for his last day off the off season, but he’s here now, and he’s not going to chicken out.

He’s not going to chicken out, but he feels his skin itch and crawl, and his stomach wants to heave, his head is starting to pound. Sakusa closes his eyes, breathes in for four, holds for seven, and releases for eight. He repeats the breathing exercise a few more times until he no longer feels like hyperventilating. Sakusa’s lungs are not on the verge of bursting anymore, but his skin still crawls with a sense of disgust. He scrubs his hands with hot water and lathers with a white jasmine scented soap until his skin is on the verge of chafing to which he stops, stares into the sink drain, and then washes again until his skin does chafe.

And then Sakusa lotions because the feeling of rough hands does not sit right with him. He pretends he does not have fleeting thoughts of holding Atsumu’s hands, his pretty setter hands with wide palms and long fingers and shiny, kept nails. The softness, the utter tenderness of holding one’s hands, he pretends like he doesn’t want more than to just get into bed with Atsumu. This is just a game, one where he flirts and Atsumu says it doesn’t affect him.

A loud meow comes from below, and Sakusa can feel a soft, warm body twisting around his ankles. He smiles as Ume butts her head against his shins. She arranges herself to be sitting neatly and lets out another loud meow. It’s soothing to be able to be pulled from his thoughts thanks to his cat. Sakusa has been distracted from his thoughts more than once due to Ume’s persistent nature. He’s pretty sure he’s not allowed to call her a therapy cat, but she’s goddamn good at the listening thing. Sakusa reaches into the cupboard where he stocks up on cat treats. Squatting down, he tears open the packet and begins to let Ume lick at it.

“Hmmm,” Sakusa muses. “You’re probably right. Let’s clean up, have lunch, and start getting ready.”

Ume continues to enjoy her snack making content little noises.

Sakusa makes sure to wipe away any leftover treat on Ume’s whiskers before giving her a quick scratch behind the ears. He throws away the packaging and washes his hands. He scrolls through a list of fine dining restaurants in the downtown area and decides on one for tonight’s reservation (7:45 pm) before busting out his cleaning supplies.

Cleaning is therapeutic to Sakusa. He likes the feeling when he wipes down the sink or countertop, and it is left sparkling clean. There’s something very satisfactory about sloshing around the water in the toilet bowl with the cleaning wand. His bathroom mirror is deemed a respectable crystal clear without any streaks; the windowsills are dust free; his floors shine from the effort of mopping down. There’s a thin layer of sweat sticking to his skin, a byproduct of his endeavors. His phone pings from a text.

Piss Hair [fox emoji]

just so i kno

how fancy is this ?

a two piece is fine

two piece suit

i know what a two piece is

sure you do

for someone who’s trying to romance me,

ur doing a goddamn shit job

date hasn’t started miya

[vomit emoji x2]

yeah ur not gettin anywhere calling me /miya/

wtf u can’t leave me on read get back here

read at 1:15 pm [check mark emoji]

(if Sakusa’s smiling, no he’s not, yes he is. No he’s not).

He showers to freshen up and slips on a fresh pair of sweats. He dumps his dirty clothes into the hamper, towel hanging over his head on damp hair. Sakusa gives Ume lunch and quickly microwaves some rice and meat for his own. He’s finishing up when Atsumu decides to FaceTime him.

“Omi-Omi,” Atsumu calls out, eyes looking at something off screen.

“What could possibly be so important that you decided to video call me?” Sakusa asks.

“Wel—” The setter’s voice cuts off when he realizes what’s on screen.

Sakusa raises an eyebrow. “It’s not like you to be quiet. C’mon, spit it out Miya.”

Atsumu swallows nervously. If Sakusa squints, he’s sure there’s the lightest flush of pink across the blond’s face.

“Yer not… naked are ya? Don’t tell me I caught ya at a bad time.”

“I’m wearing pants.”

“Really, now,” Atsumu says followed with a burst of nervous laughter.

“It’s also not like you to be so shy.”

“Well. Um. Ya see,” Atsumu begins to explain.

Sakusa smirks. “If I’d known all it would take to seduce you was my body, I would’ve approached this much differently.”

The scandalized look on Atsumu’s face is very much worth acting out of character.

“Omi-kun!” Atsumu’s staring at him. “Ya can’t just say that.”

“Why not?”

“There’s…. Ya can’t… Because… ” He throws his free hand up in frustration.

“So, what did you want?”

A very loud, long, dramatic sigh. “Are ya wearing a tie?”

“I will be.”

“What color?”

“Black.”

“Yer no fun, Omi-kun.”

He rolls his eyes in response. “Anything else?”

“Is it too much if I show up in cufflinks?”

Sakusa grimaces. “Please, nothing too gaudy.”

“Tie pin?”

“Again—”

“Nothin’ too gaudy, heard ya the first time Sakusa. Where are we eatin’ anyway?”

“Some upscale sushi restaurant.”

“Ya mean I get ta eat chutoro?”

No comment. Sakusa’s silence gives him away.

Atsumu’s smile grows on screen. Sakusa is just a little bit endeared.

“Awwwwww,” he coos. “I think ya do love me.”

“I’ll see you tonight, Miya,” Sakusa says simply and lets Atsumu get cut off.

Ume meows at him from the floor. She’s staring at him. Sakusa looks back with a frown.

“Yeah, I know. I’m in some shit.”

  
  


Sakusa has managed to (not so successfully) slick the sides of his hair back with gel and tease his fringe with a shit ton of hairspray. It’s been a process. He gets dressed, white shirt flat ironed out of any wrinkles, suit jacket freshly steamed. Per Atsumu’s FaceTime call, Sakusa does actually put on a tie pin and cufflinks. He straightens his tie, snaps on his watch, and locks the door behind him after grabbing the flowers on his counter.

He shoots a text to Atsumu that he’ll be there in about ten minutes. The setter’s apartment is not far from his own as they all live relatively close within the vicinity of the MSBY Black Jackal’s gym. The drive is short, he pulls up in the apartment parking lot, rings the doorbell, and is greeted by a slightly frazzled Atsumu.

“Ah, hi, Omi-kun,” he greets quickly. “Suppose ya don’t mind waitin’ a bit?”

“Miya,” Sakusa stops him. “For you.”

The blond stops in his doorway and tentatively reaches for the bouquet, a lovely arrangement of white lilies and pink-blue hydrangeas.

“Pretty,” Atsumu says, blinking. “I’ll, um, get a vase. Also, I cleaned before ya came. Y’can sit if ya’d like.”

“Thank you.” Sakusa steps in, takes the offered guest slippers from their plastic, and takes a seat on the couch.

“Was almost done till ya rang the bell.”

“Relax, we got time before our reservation.” Sakusa pulls his mask down to reveal his face.

Atsumu disappears into what is most likely his room, is gone for not long, and returns noticeably wearing a suit jacket, hair a little stiffer.

“We can leave now,” he says, haphazardly placing the flowers in what is not quite a vase but not really a bottle either.

They slip on their dress shoes, Atsumu rushing down the stairs, Sakusa rushing after. He opens the door for the blond. Sakusa slips into the driver’s seat and pulls out into the street.

“Nice car, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu remarks.

“There’s a pack of masks in the glovebox.”

“Fer?” he asks curiously.

“Hide your identity.”

“Ah, right, good point.”

“Y’know,” Atsumu wolf whistles, “this is a really nice ride.”

“Is my car charming you, Miya?”

Wry laughter. Sakusa’s heart beats far too quickly for his liking.

“Nice try, Sakusa. Got my own car,” Atsumu smirks, looking in the mirror as he loops the new mask around his ears.

“You dropped a cool 80k, in USD, on a car,” Sakusa says, framing his words in a way that could be a question but is posed as a statement.

“Mercedes Benz, love of my life.”

“That’s gonna change in three months,” Sakusa refutes. “But this Lexus? LS F Sport in obsidian with black leather interior? My baby, Miya. Do not touch anything.”

Atsumu holds his hands up in protest. “Damn, geez, alright. But, I’m dockin’ points fer that.”

Sakusa scrunches his face. “Please, do not ruin my interior.”

“Better.”

“I forgot to tell you that you look good.”

“Oh, wow, that Sakusa Kiyoomi, collegiate all-star, complimentin’ me? Thinkin’ maybe ya do got a thing fer me.”

“Should I take it back?”

“M’bad, Omi-kun. Ya don’t look too bad yerself. Clean up nicely.”

“Atsumu,” Sakusa says distinctly, “you look handsome.”

Atsumu, pulls up his mask and turns to face out the tinted windows, ears flushed red. Sakusa, glancing over, smiles to himself.

The rest of the drive is filled with idle chatter, Atsumu shifting through radio stations before begging to connect his bluetooth, Sakusa stepping on the gas at certain occasions to fuck with his passenger, and eventually, they reach the valet, Atsumu glaring at Sakusa when the latter holds the door open.

“Yer killin’ me here, Omi-kun.”

Sakusa snickers. “You’ll be fine. C’mon let’s go inside.”

After confirming their reservation, the hostess leads the pair inside to a table far from the windows. Sakusa pulls out the other seat for Atsumu, and then seats himself. The table is set with a pair of ceramic plates, high quality bamboo chopsticks, and they receive tonight’s menu. Sakusa has chosen the mid tier dinner priced at about 120,000 won per person. It’s a five course meal thematically placed around traditional Japanese seafood dishes. They are started with an appetizer of chutoro nigiri.

“Itadakimasu,” the both of them say quietly, Atsumu mirroring Sakusa in pulling his mask down.

The blond deftly takes a piece into his mouth. Sakusa watches amused as Atsumu goes through just about every emotion.

“Omi-kun, ‘m gonna cry. This is so good. This is so fuckin’ good.”

Sakusa smiles involuntarily, Atsumu’s unfiltered words causing his muscles to do a little skip and jump. He eats his own portion in silence, more content to soak in Atsumu’s joy.

“So, Omi-kun, how’s this gonna work? Like, we’ll take alternating weekends?”

Sakusa clicks his tongue in response. “If that’s what you want.”

“So considerate.” Atsumu sets his chopsticks down. “Seems like you already have a plan in mind, hm?”

“Next week, either dinner out or a movie at home unless you already have something in mind.”

A look of delight spreads across Atsumu’s face. “Movie, yer house,” he answers quickly.

He scoffs. “Of course.”

“I’ve never been inside. Course I’d wanna see what’s in it.” Atsumu grins, leaning forward on his elbows. “I can get dinner.”

The next course is set between the middle of the two: a form of seaweed salad. Sakusa reaches for it, Atsumu does not. It’s salty, briny, and very, very good.

“You need to shower before you get to come over.”

Atsumu’s smile grows wider. “Whatever ya say.”

“I suppose I don’t have to tell you we should keep this quiet from the public.”

“That’d be a disaster, wouldn’t it, Omi-kun.”

“You want the entire team to be all up in our business?”

“True but, y’know, it feels really weird ta be in a “relationship” and not do anything,” Atsumu notes, using air quotes at the appropriate word.

“You’re fine, honestly. I’m more concerned with trying to figure out how to get you to fall in love with me.”

Atsumu covers his mouth to laugh. “This is the most civil conversation we’ve had.”

“I’m civil, you’re… ” Sakusa squints his eyes. “You’re too much.”

“Too much fer you ta handle?” Atsumu asks with a slight sneer. 

Sakusa shrugs. “Don’t think so anymore.”

“Oh?” Atsumu says, the slightest rumble of a purr in his voice. “Do tell, Omi-kun.”

The smile shoots back up on Sakusa’s face. “For another time, my dear.”

Atsumu whips his head as he sputters on his water just as the next course is brought to them. Their hostess is concerned, but Sakusa reassures her it’s just water. Atsumu glares at Sakusa once she leaves.

“M’dear? Isn’t it a bit early for the pet names?”

“I don’t know Atsumu. You do look rather fetching in that lovely shade of red,” Sakusa compliments. 

“Who are ya ‘n what have ya done with Sakusa Kiyoomi?” Atsumu stares in bewilderment, ear tips burning red as ever. 

Perhaps this wasn’t the worst idea ever.

“I’m Sakusa Kiyoomi, your one and only boyfriend.” Sakusa grins showing off his pearly white smile, straight thanks to two years of braces and regularly wearing a retainer at night. All in all, a lovely smile, rare as a blue moon, perfectly soft and angelic, utterly charming to its recipient. The blush on Atsumu’s face is starting to become a permanent fixture.

“Looks like you’re on the way to losing, Miya.”

Atsumu chooses to stab his chopsticks at his plate in response.

  
  


Sakusa drives safely on the way home much to Atsumu’s chagrin. He voices his opinion loudly claiming Sakusa is “only doin’ this as a front ‘n that he’ll die before the three months are up if Omi-kun continues ta chauffeur him like this.” Sakusa snickers pulling into the apartment parking lot. He opens the door for Atsumu but makes no move to offer a hand. He follows the setter up the stairs and waits patiently as Atsumu unlocks the door. The door opens, Atsumu begins to slip through, but Sakusa leans over him in the doorway.

“Night, Atsumu,” he says softly looking down. “I had a good time.”

Atsumu takes a step back. “G’night, Omi-kun.”

“I’ll see you at practice tomorrow?”

Atsumu scrunches his face. “Guess ya will.”

“Have a good night, dear,” Sakusa bids his partings. 

He laughs all the way down back to his car.

Motoya calls him once he gets back to his own apartment. Kiyoomi’s hasn’t even gone through the door when his phone vibrates. He swipes to answer the call, puts in on speaker, carefully weaves through Ume rubbing at his legs, and says hello to his cousin.

“Details, now.”

“No,” Kiyoomi answers. “No, I don’t think I will.”

“Asshole. Who helped you?”

“You,” Kiyoomi concedes. “But no, I think I want to keep this to myself.”

“Tch. I’ll get those details from you sooner or later.”

“Good luck with that. Night, Motoya.”

Kiyoomi’s good mood stays. There is no overwhelming disgust when he steps in the shower, no incessant vigorous scrubbing from ill intent. He washes up cheerily feeling lighter than he has in years. When he stares at himself in the mirror, he feels no need to nitpick at every imperfection. It is a bit of a weird sensation, but it is one he welcomes.

As he lies with his back flat on his bed staring at his ceiling fan, Kiyoomi thinks back to Atsumu’s face flushed red from embarrassment, his laugh barking like a fox, the curl of his coy smile as he fits a piece of nigiri between his lips, and he can’t help but smile to himself, a bloom of warmth unfurling in the space between his lungs. He blinks his eyes open adjusting to the darkness of his room, Ume padding in to curl on top of his chest, the rumbles of her purrs gently rocking his chest. Kiyoomi stays like that, a hand scratching behind the ears of his cat, staring at the ceiling, the coil of something raw settling deep within him. He wants to hold on to this, to tonight, these memories he’s made, Kiyoomi wants to clutch on like his life depends on it because if he doesn’t, it’ll slip out of his grasp like how all good things do.

He falls asleep, uncertainty and doubts plaguing his dreams. This always happens, it’s always too good to be true. In the recesses of his active mind, Kiyoomi swallows, mulls over his choices, but he knows, he knows, he knows this is just a stupid bet. This is just a game of flirtatious advances, and he refuses to let his attraction towards Miya Atsumu be pulled any deeper than surface level. He will not allow himself to be pulled. Kiyoomi is simply attracted to Atsumu’s physical features, body like Adonis, chiseled to peak athletic performance, but no more, no more than that.

Kiyoomi is just here to win a bet, and maybe have a good time too. Thoughts of easy smiles and ugly blond hair with the roots showing do not make imprints on his metaphorical heart. Said metaphorical heart stays locked in a shoddily made cage with hastily done repairs over the years, but it is easily broken down by fox like laughter and a dumb Kansai dialect.

No matter.

No matter how poorly his defenses are, Kiyoomi refuses to fall in love.

You are a boy badly hurt. You pretend to be more confident than you are. You play up the suave, charming self in hopes of deflecting prying gazes. People see what they want to see. And they see a self-assured young man albeit a little private but what public figure isn’t. It is easier than revealing your true inner self. And it works for you, the pretending to be someone you’re not. It gets people to leave you alone because that’s how it’s always been, always will be.

You, alone.

//

From a discreet corner in the alley, a figure in the niche of their car lifts up a camera. Downtown is plenty lit, and the photographer has no trouble capturing the pair’s faces. Despite the masks, there are still discernible features: two moles over the right eyebrow on the dark haired fellow, and the shock of short, blond hair on the other.

They scroll through the photos and keep the good ones. The SD card gets safely tucked away in a small pocket. The photographer unlocks their phone and shoots someone a text message.

_???_

_guess who i got on camera_

//

He can feel multiple pairs of eyes watching him since the moment he opened the gym doors. It’s been like this the entire week. Sakusa steps in, and immediately, he is bombarded by the weight of the entire team’s gaze. They silently whip their heads around from wherever they are and attempt to tactfully observe. Sakusa bears them no mind and chooses to focus on himself. He gets dressed in the locker room, goes through his stretching routine with ease, throws up a couple of balls for a few practice serves, and if he chooses to talk or interact with Atsumu in any way, the pairs of eyes that follow him go back and forth between their every words like observers of a tennis match.

They’re the last two left in the locker room after an intense practice session. Sakusa has finished with his shower, and he’s redressed ages ago, but he waits patiently for Atsumu to finish up. He actually hasn’t been waiting all the long, just that everyone else suspiciously seemed to have somewhere else to be—and fast. All in too high pitched voices and stretched words of “heyyyyyyy, gotta go, see you guys!” and Sakusa has to raise an eyebrow, lips curling in a smirk of awareness, but he bids them goodbye anyway. He has an inkling they’re all waiting behind the door, the seemingly quiet hallway a dead giveaway, except for Barnes maybe because he’s “too old for this shit” and probably Shuugo too, wife and kids taking priority over a childish romance. 

Atsumu is ready to go, duffel bag slung over his shoulders. Sakusa watches the setter quickly apply a swipe of Vaseline across his lips with his pinky and blinks when Atsumu looks up to catch his gaze. He jerks his head in the direction of the door, mouths “ready?”, and stands to follow Atsumu out the door. The grin of mischief on Atsumu’s face tells Sakusa the setter knows exactly what is up and is delighted to get a little payback on his all too eager teammates. Sakusa pretends he can’t feel a sliver break off the cage he’s built around his heart.

Atsumu pulls on the door hard, and Shouyou ends up tumbling onto the floor, Koutarou, Shion, and Adriah all leaning forward in the doorway. The group looks up with sheepish smiles. Sakusa steps over Shouyou and beckons for Atsumu to do the same. And the round owl eyes return.

“C’mon, guys, really?” Atsumu chastises as he follows Sakusa. They shout half hearted apologies as the two exit the building. Sakusa shakes his head in resignation while Atsumu has to laugh.

The car door chirps to unlock. They slip in, click on their seatbelts, and Atsumu connects his phone to the bluetooth.

“Takeout? Or would you rather I cook you something?” Sakusa offers as he starts up the car.

“You can cook?”

Sakusa turns to give Atsumu a withering look. “You don’t have to sound so incredulous.” The blond can only grin, lips pulling back to reveal a billboard worthy smile, each and every tooth practically pearlescent, the edges of his canines reducing to something sharp which glint in the sunlight.

“S’all right, Omi-Omi. Takeout’s fine. Bet yer probably tired anyway ‘n I did say I’d get dinner this time.”

“Pick a place then, quickly.”

“So snippy,” Atsumu comments. “There’s a family restaurant I like goin’ to. I can call on the way, ‘n ya don’t hafta go in when I pick up the stuff.”

If Sakusa picks up on Atsumu’s thoughtfulness, he doesn’t say anything. “Navigate for me then,” he returns simply, and he places an arm behind the passenger headrest, looks behind him and starts to reverse the car out of the parking space one-handed.

Atsumu is surprisingly a good navigator, deftly giving instructions while spouting off their order through the phone. Traffic is light, and they make it there within the twenty or so minutes needed to cook their order. Sakusa parks a little further down the street from the restaurant as Atsumu pulls up his mask and shoves a cap flat on the top of his head. He pulls it low, Sakusa gives his approval on the lack of any incriminating features, and Atsumu goes to collect dinner, clutching onto Sakusa’s card.

He returns with a hefty bag, and the smell of home style cooking permeates the car. Sakusa begins the drive home, stepping on the gas just enough to keep Atsumu teetering on the edge. Some shitty American pop song blasts from the stereo system as Sakusa weaves his way through surrounding cars. Every so often, he’ll glance over to check on Atsumu, and the deathly pale look on the setter’s face is much more agreeable than his usual overly sleazeball self. The drive home is made in record time, Sakusa distinctly aware of the seconds he’s shaved off. Whether it is his hunger or the presence of Atsumu in his car, Sakusa has got a new record.

“Were ya tryin’ ta kill me?” Atsumu gripes as Sakusa unlocks his door.

“Couldn’t collect if I did,” Sakusa replies coolly. “And I plan to collect.”

“Fuck you,” he says but there is a noticeable lack of malice. Atsumu sets his shoes onto the rack near the door and accepts the pair of slippers straight from their packaging. The whole thing very much mirrors Sakusa’s short time at Atsumu’s place.

“Nice place, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says with a wolf whistle.

The living area is furnished with a light gray couch, probably from IKEA, paired with a matching armchair. A hardwood table is centered in the middle, placed on top of a rug. There’s a 65 inch plasma tv on the wall opposite the couch. Cream curtains separate the window from the room. A small miao rings out, and Ume appears twisting through Sakusa’s legs.

“Hello Ume darling,” Sakusa greets his cat. “We have a guest, yes. This is Miya, you can ignore him.”

“Very rude to yer fake boyfriend,” Atsumu says. “Ume, yer father is actually a big meanie ya know that?”

She stares at him before running off. Kiyoomi chuckles. “Too bad Miya, she doesn’t seem to like you.”

Atsumu grumbles. “Yer a bad influence on her. And stop callin’ me Miya, I’m supposed to be yer boyfriend.”

“I have water or tea,” Sakusa deflects.

  
“Water,” Atsumu chooses and sets the food down on Sakusa’s table. He opens the takeout boxes and sets napkins on opposite sides of the table. Atsumu tears open a pair of chopsticks for himself while setting down another only opened at the end for Sakusa.

Sakusa sets two glasses on the table after placing coasters. He takes a seat and snaps apart the untouched chopsticks.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

Atsumu shrugs. “Felt like I should wait for you.”

Sakusa doesn’t say anything after that, just taking food for himself. They eat in quiet silence. It’s somehow comfortable despite the lack of conversation. Miya doesn’t incessantly chatter away, he doesn’t ask Sakusa questions, it’s nice.

“Aren’t ya gonna feed Ume?” Atsumu asks.

“Her feeder is on a timer,” Sakusa explains. “I had to get one since I’m away so often.”

“Doesn’t she get lonely?” the setter wonders.

Sakusa has to smile a little bit. “She’s a cat. She gets attention on her own terms.”

“Ah, of course, of course.”

They finish up dinner with relatively easy talk. Conversation flows surprisingly well between just the two of them, and Sakusa doesn’t ever feel like he’s forcing himself. Atsumu cleans up without a word and Sakusa takes it as his cue to clean their cups in the sink. He can feel Atsumu staring at him as he runs the cups under water.

“Would you like to watch a movie?” he offers instead of asking why Atsumu is staring.

“Sure.”

Sakusa’s been on dates before when he was in college, and this feels similar but also it’s not similar. He knows Atsumu too well for it to be a date about “getting to know each other,” and yet he still finds himself tip-toeing around. He rarely brings people home, much less his teammates. The sight of Miya sitting on his couch legs casually crossed is a bit weird for Sakusa to process. Picking up the remote, he sits down next to the setter.

“I have Hulu and Netflix,” Sakusa says, pressing the on button.

“There’s a movie on Netflix I’ve been meaning to watch,” Atsumu answers.

“Alright.”

As he hands the remote over to Atsumu, Ume appears again and jumps into his lap. Sakusa feels nervous about being in such close proximity to Atsumu, but he’ll win this bet no matter what, but at least Ume is here to keep him calm.

“Can I pet her?” Atsumu asks once he has the movie going.

Sakusa nods his head yes. “She likes it around the ears, but don’t be surprised if she’s a little standoffish.”

Atsumu smirks. “Ya mean like yourself?”

He doesn’t have an answer for that and just watches Atsumu let Ume sniff his fingers before allowing herself to be pet. Sakusa can feel the rumble of her purring on his lap.

Atsumu coos at his cat saying, “She’s adorable. I can’t believe yer her father.”

“Ume you traitor.”

Ume simply wriggles herself off Sakusa’s lap and sets herself into Atsumu’s lap, butting her head into his head.

“Oh she likes me” he notes, tiniest bit of wonder in his voice.

Sakusa sighs outwardly, exaggerating his hurt feelings, however he finds it terribly cute to see his cat and Atsumu getting along.

The movie goes well. Sakusa begrudgingly agrees Atsumu chose a good movie to watch. Ume is asleep in Atsumu’s lap, and Sakusa gently pulls her off as it’s time for Atsumu to leave.

“I’ll drive you back,” Sakusa tells Atsumu.

“I’ll drive ya next time.”

  
  


Atsumu does indeed drive him next time. He shows up at Sakusa’s apartment five minutes early dressed in casual wear. Sakusa pretends like he hasn’t been agonizing over his outfit and leaves the house in a graphic t-shirt, jeans, and flannel. The inside of Atsumu’s car is clean, and he tells Atsumu so, who only smiles vaguely at him.

“Where are we going?”

“The aquarium,” is Atsumu’s response.

He turns on a lofi playlist, and they drive without conversation. The weather is pleasant as Atsumu cruises down the streets of Osaka. He’s not a reckless driver unlike Sakusa, who drives without abandon. But Atsumu does get irritated with other drivers, and Sakusa smiles in amusement at Atsumu clicking his tongue. They make it to the aquarium with no trouble and park in a quiet area.

“Nice driving,” Sakusa comments.

Atsumu throws him a look as he fits a mask over his face. “It’s better than yers. Ya drive like a fuckin’ madman.”

“I could not give a shit about respecting the road,” Sakusa remarks.

“This is why I’m gonna win. Yer gonna die before time’s up.”

“Aw, you’ll come to my funeral right?”

“Let’s go, Omi.”

Atsumu pays for their tickets at the entry as Sakusa glances around. It’s not terribly crowded at this time; there’s a group of small kids here for an outdoor activity. Sakusa lets Atsumu tie the wristband for him and walks in tow towards the first exhibit.

In the dim lighting of the aquarium, the water reflecting off Atsumu, Sakusa’s breath hitches. It’s annoyingly magical, and he sort of understands why Atsumu chose to come here. Watching the fish swim around, being surrounded by tons of water, there’s something mesmerizing and peaceful standing in the middle of it all.

“C’mon let’s go see the seals,” Atsumu insists, and Sakusa can only follow.

The seals are absolutely adorable. Sakusa thoroughly enjoys the live show between the seals showing off and Atsumu getting water splashed on him. He’s pretty soaked by the end of the show, and Sakusa suggests they hit up the gift shop for a new shirt.

“You just wanna see me in some terrible merchandise, huh,” Atsumu groans.

“Perhaps.”

The gift shop has this terribly, terribly tacky shirt, and of course, Sakusa immediately pays for it. Atsumu regards it with much disdain but inevitably takes off his wet shirt to put it on. Sakusa is particularly amused with his reaction.

“Shut up,” Atsumu glowers.

“You want a plushie? You look like you need a plushie.”

“I hate you.”

Sakusa laughs.

“Actually, ya know what, lemme get that sea urchin cause it looks like you.”

“Fuck you.”

  
  


Piss Hair [fox emoji][heart emoji]

hey

lets go shopping

what

why

cause im a trust fund baby

and i got money to spend

u fuckin suck at this boyfriend thing

r we going or what

be ready in 15

im making u go Broke

you can try

  
  


(Sakusa finds himself enjoying throwing money at Atsumu. He likes being able to buy all the things Atsumu likes and wants, and he has absolutely no trouble carrying it all around. Get fucked.)

  
  


And somewhere along the way, getting a notification from Atsumu brings a smile to Kiyoomi’s face. Motoya calls him out for it, and he flushes attempting to make up an excuse. But it’s impossible to come up with an excuse in the face of Motoya and his round little eyebrows. Kiyoomi’s been caught and he knows it.

“It’s a losing battle,” he admits, “but as long as I pretend like I don’t have any feelings, it’ll be fine.”

“So you say,” Motoya remarks. “So you say.”

“I will end you.”

His cousins cackles. “You can try.”

“So you gotta go, Atsumu’s on his way.”

“Oh so it’s “Atsumu” now?” Motoya looks like he’s just discovered a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

“Out of respect to Suna, I will let you stay alive. Now get out.”

Motoya cheerfully leaves, but Kiyoomi knows the libero is going to spill his secrets to Suna. When it comes to his cousin, Kiyoomi is always playing a losing game. No one believes him, but Motoya is definitely evil incarnate.

He pushes those thoughts from his mind when Atsumu arrives, dinner in hand. The setter greets him with a blinding smile and Kiyoomi knows he’s down bad. Down bad to the depths of hell, but he’d rather die than expose himself.

Dinner this time around is a stark contrast to the first time Atsumu came over. They’re a lot more comfortable around each other. Kiyoomi’s kitchen table is filled with a warmth that was never there before. Ume has also gotten accustomed to Atsumu’s presence around the apartment, always butting her head against him for a scratch around her ears.

Kiyoomi and Atsumu clean up together; the setter has gotten entirely used to Kiyoomi’s routine, and he doesn’t know what’ll happen once they inevitably part. Kiyoomi soaps the dishes while Atsumu rinses. He flicks water onto Atsumu, who by nature flicks water back. Washing the dishes turns into a game of seeing who gets more soaked. By the end of it, the both of them are covered in more soap and water than the dishes are.

“ I have spare clothes if you want to shower,” Kiyoomi offers.

Atsumu smirks. “So forward, Omi.”

Kiyoomi glares at him. “You can catch a cold for all I care.”

“Omi! I’ll take the shower, thanks.”

Kiyoomi leaves a change of clothes in the bathroom. The thought of Atsumu wearing his shirt and sweats leaves much to be desired. Boyfriend shirt, he muses, but they’re not _real_ boyfriends. Atsumu finishes up relatively quickly letting Kiyoomi use the water. Kiyoomi has to swallow hard at the sight of Atsumu with his hair down.

“I’ll wait in the living room for ya. Gotta let my hair dry.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t say anything and just shuts the bathroom door.

Once he shuts off the water, Kiyoomi catches Atsumu’s voice vaguely coming through the door. He hears his name, and fuck, he really shouldn’t, but he presses his ear against the bathroom door in order to hear what Atsumu is saying.

“It’s a stupid bet ‘Samu.”

So he’s on call with his twin.

“No I’m not. Like I said, it’s a dumb bet. It doesn’t mean anything to me, and he doesn’t mean anything to me either.”

Kiyoomi has to slap himself upside for that. So this whole goddamn time it was just him who was being a fool.

Cause y’know. Atsumu doesn’t care.

**Author's Note:**

> passes out follow me on [twt](https://twitter.com/rinniebear666)
> 
> shoutout to my group


End file.
